"Often in the silence of the night, when all my people have been fast asleep around the fire, have I stood to contemplate these faithful animals watching by their side, and have learned to esteem them for their social inclination towards mankind. When, wandering over pathless deserts, oppressed with vexation and distress at the conduct of my own men, I have turned to these as my only friends, and felt how much inferior to them was man when actuated only by selfish views."
Of the stanchness and incorruptible fidelity of the dog, and his disregard of personal inconvenience and want, when employed in our service, it is impossible to entertain a doubt. We have sometimes thought that the attachment of the dog to its master was increased, or, at least, the exhibition of it, by the penury of the owner. At all events one fact is plain enough, that, while poverty drives away from us many a companion of our happier hours, it was never known to diminish the love of our quadruped friend.
The early history of the dog has been described, and the abomination in which he was held by the Israelites. At no great distance of time, however, we find him, almost in the neighbourhood of Palestine, in one of the islands of the Ionian Sea, the companion and the friend of princes, and deserving their regard. The reader will forgive a somewhat abbreviated account of the last meeting of Ulysses and his dog.
Twenty years had passed since Argus, the favourite dog of Ulysses, had been parted from his master. The monarch at length wended his way homewards, and, disguised as a beggar, for his life would have been sacrificed had he been known, stood at the entrance of his palace-door. There he met with an old dependant, who had formerly served him with fidelity and who was yet faithful to his memory; but age and hardship and care, and the disguise which he now wore, had so altered the wanderer that the good Eumaeus had not the most distant suspicion with whom he was conversing; but:
Near to the gates, conferring as they drew, Argus the dog his ancient master knew, And, not unconscious of the voice and tread Lifts to the sound his ears, and rears his head. He knew the lord, he knew, and strove to meet; In vain he strove to crawl and kiss his feet; Yet, all he could, his tail, his ears, his eyes Salute his master, and confess his joys. [15]